Caterina
What day is it?
That’s the first question that comes to mind when I open my eyes, but then it usually is. It’s bad enough when I take a nap in the middle of the afternoon and wake up without the slightest clue of what time or day it is. Adding painkillers to the mix makes it impossible to keep track of time.
When I check my phone, the date reflects back at me like a neon sign.Four days.It’s been four days since the car hit me. Four days of in and out of consciousness while random shows play on the big TV mounted on the wall across from the foot of the bed.
Sometimes, I wake up, and it’s night, and Gianni is next to me. All it takes is a soft grunt or a sigh, and he’s beside me, asking if I’m okay, if I need anything, or if he can make me more comfortable. He can’t be sleeping well. I warned him last night that if he doesn’t start sleeping for real, he’ll end up in the hospital.
Just thinking about waking up with a bright light shining in my eyes and the paramedics loading me onto a gurney turns my stomach. Nobody could tell me what happened or why I was hurting so much. When I asked for my purse, all they did was put a mask over my face and blow oxygen at me. It was like waking up to a nightmare.
My heart races. I need to stop thinking about it. I’m safe now, and I doubt anybody has been better taken care of than me. The past few days have shown me a side of Gianni I never knew existed. Gentle and attentive, trying to anticipate everything I need beforehand. He checks in on me a few times a day, even while he’s working, and otherwise hangs out here.
He’s even watched a few classic romantic comedies with me. Gianni Rossetti, the feared arms dealer, cracking up to an old Cary Grant movie. Nobody would believe it. I wouldn’t if I wasn’t curled up next to him at the time.
He’s made all of this so much easier to live with.
It only makes me feel worse that I was in that part of town at all. Why was I even thinking of signing a lease to begin with? It’s hard to remember now that I know this side of him exists.
Maybe this is a turning point. It would make all the pain worthwhile. The idea makes me smile, even as I fight to swing my legs over the side of the bed so I can use the bathroom. Moving around is getting easier, but I’m still sore and stiff. One of the nurses told me I’m lucky I didn’t break anything, and I know she’s right, but there’ve been moments when I was sure the x-rays were wrong, and I had a broken leg or arm. No, it didn’t make sense, but who thinks clearly when they’re in pain?
Four days have made it easier to face myself in the mirror, too. I don’t flinch away from my reflection while washing my hands. The bruise on my cheekbone will turn an ugly shade of yellow and green before long, but I can cover that with makeup. The scrapes, too.
“You’re still perfect,” Gianni told me as I drifted off to sleep beside him the first night. I don’t know if he thought I could hear him or not, but I’ve heard those three whispered words in my head countless times since then. He still thinks I’m perfect.
Could this mean he has actual feelings for me?
There’s no time to mull that over since my phone rings on the nightstand. Stephanie has been checking in on me from the office, and I don’t want to miss the call if it’s her, especially when she’s covered for me since the accident.
It’s not Stephanie, but somebody I’ve been dying to talk to. “Buongiorno,” I chirp on answering. “Wait. Are you still in Italy? I’ve lost track of your jet setting.”
“Are you serious?” Tatiana blurts out with an edge in her voice. “You’re cracking jokes?”
Oh, no. I sink to the bed while my heart continues plummeting until it’s down around my ankles. She must’ve found out about us—why else would she sound so pissed? “I’m sorry,” I whisper over the tears clogging my throat.
“You got hit by a fucking car, and I had to wait four days to find out? Did you forget all about me?”
She sounds genuinely hurt, so it’s probably not cool that I’m so relieved. She’s only upset that she didn’t know about the accident.
“When were you going to call me?” I can almost see her standing in front of me, arms folded, tapping a foot against the floor, and looking murderous.
“I’ve been so out of it. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret or anything.” I stifle a groan while settling back against the pillows.
“Are you okay? I mean, considering?”
“Considering, I’m fine. I got off pretty easy when you think about how much worse it could’ve been.”
“Please, don’t remind me. I just about died when Dad told me.”
Even while I’m half doped up after my last pill that put me to sleep, there’s no escaping the guilt that lances through me. “He’s taking great care of me,” I murmur, wincing. Here I am, in his bed, and I have to pretend our relationship is totally innocent.
“Well, this settles it.”
“Settles what?”
“I’m coming home right away. Obviously, somebody needs to keep an eye on you, and Dad is too busy working all the time.”
If somebody told me a few months ago that I would ever dread the idea of my best friend coming home after weeks apart, I’d tell them they were crazy. This is Tatiana. I miss her. Having her gone all this time has been like missing a part of myself. Of course, I want her to come home.
But.
“Um…”
Her familiar laughter only adds to the discomfort. “What? You don’t want to see me? Did you find another best friend? Because I’ll cut that bitch.”
“Put the knife away,” I murmur, chewing my lip until it hurts. What’s better, telling her now or waiting until she gets home? It’s not like I’ll be able to hide it from her. I could never hide anything from her; she’s too observant and knows me too well.
“You know, if this goes on much longer, I’m going to feel insulted,” she warns in a deceptively light tone of voice that I know conceals irritation. I know her too well, too.
“I have something to tell you.” Oh, god, I’m actually doing this. But it has to be done. She has to know. I don’t want to drop the bomb on her after she’s arrived, and that’s probably because I’m a coward. I don’t think I could stand the look on her face when she finds out about us.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better friend.
She sighs loudly while I struggle to find the right words. “Does it have anything to do with you sleeping with my dad?”